Beating The Heat
by Snafu1000
Summary: It's a scorching summer day in Kirkwall, and Hawke and Isabela decide to show Merrill that three is not a crowd. FemHawke/Isabela/Merrill


_Author's Note: It's shaping up to be a banner day in Snafu-World! I completed Judge, Jury & Executioner in my Rizzoli & Isles works, have another chapter of Moments In Time ready to go, and one of my favorite lost works has just been drawn back out of the ether! Big thanks to KalenCaelli (and a Stolen Moments prompt of your choice, m'dear) for rescuing this one. I couldn't find it anywhere in my files. Three-way female action ahead, so consider yourself warned!_

_And as usual, BioWare owns it all; I just get to play with it here and there._

* * *

"Phew! It's like an oven in here!" Kalindra Hawke announced as Merrill opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the warrior and Isabela into her tiny hovel. She'd almost not responded to the knock, but she was unwilling to turn away her two dearest friends; not when she had so few left.

Besides, Isabela would likely just pick the lock, anyway.

"It's hot everywhere, Hawke," she replied quietly. Summer had descended on Kirkwall with a vengeance, the heat unremitting without a hint of rain to offer relief. The cobblestoned streets seared Merrill's bare feet when she went out in the day, and the bricks of the buildings radiated heat, making her feel as though she was indeed in a giant oven.

"At least outside you might catch a breeze, Kitten!" Isabela chided her affectionately. "You've been shut up in here for weeks! It's not healthy."

"I...just haven't felt like going out," the elf said with a weak shrug. She could feel the eyes upon her as she moved about the alienage. Perhaps they didn't really know what had transpired on Sundermount, but she fancied that she could see the veiled sneers on their faces, the disdain in their eyes. _Pariah_. Turned out by the clan that had been her home since childhood. City elves, though they had largely forgotten the freedom of their Dalish kindred, had still managed to establish a society of sorts here in Kirkwall, clinging to each other even as they endured their status as near-slaves with a resignation that baffled her. She'd kept herself aloof from them before, proud of her _vallaslin_ and smugly certain that her work with the eluvian would be successful, that she would return triumphant to Marethari and her clan with vital knowledge that had been lost over the centuries, knowledge that would restore some of the lost glory of Arlathan.

Except it hadn't worked out that way, had it?

"Can I get you some water?" she asked, turning away quickly as the tears tried to rise at the memory of Marethari's body crumpled in death; the looks of loathing, hatred on the faces of clanmates that she had known for so many years; Hawke barring the way, refusing to let them kill her as they so plainly desired to do...and as she perhaps deserved. The clan had moved on. She had destroyed the eluvian in a fit of grief, and now she had nothing. No clan, no grand task to aspire to. Only the scars on her arms and the nightmares.

"It won't be cold, I'm afraid." She never gave thought to such little comforts when she was alone, and though she was constantly reminding herself to get some wine or mead to serve to guests, she always seemed to forget when she was in the market, her scant coin spent on some book or another. It was a wonder that Hawke and Isabela ever bothered to come by, yet they did, and quite often.

"No water, Merrill." Hawke caught her arm, gentle fingers slipping down to lace with hers and turning her back around. "Not here, anyway. You've been cooped up in here long enough."

Isabela was on her other side, hooking her arm through the elf's with a mischievous gleam in her honey-gold eyes. "You're being kidnapped, Kitten. It'll be fun, trust me."

And it would be. She always enjoyed herself when she was with Bela and Hawke, even though she generally just stayed in the background and watched the antics of the irrepressible pair. Still, she found herself resisting. Surely they could have fun without her along to spoil things by being broody. "I really don't feel like going out in this heat." The glare of the sun on the stone and brick only made her long all the more for the cool shadows beneath the trees and the swaying creak of the aravels, and yearning for what she couldn't have was foolish. She'd been a fool long enough.

"Hawke's found a way for us to cool off," the pirate replied, giving her lover an affectionate grin. They'd been having sex for years, but the closeness that had grown between them since Hawke dealt with that awful slaver and got Isabela her boat (_ship_, she reminded herself) delighted Merrill. Hawke had lost so much, surely she deserved some happiness, and Merrill had always known that Isabela wasn't so uncaring as she tried to seem. Her smiles were softer, particularly those that she directed at Hawke, and she almost looked shy at times...though she was quick enough with a barb when Anders or Fenris teased her.

"Really?" She glanced up at the tall redhead in surprise, wondering how she'd managed the trick. Even the shadows in Kirkwall were hot, and the water in the harbor was as warm as bathwater...besides smelling of dead fish and other things she'd rather not think about. "Should we stop by the Hanged Man and get Varric, then? I know he hates the heat."

The two of them exchanged a glance over her head, secretive smiles passing between them. "No," Isabela said firmly. "No Varric this time."

Curious now, she let the two women lead her through Kirkwall's streets to the gates. There were more than a few cries of greeting to the Champion, which Hawke acknowledged with polite nods, but when anyone tried to detain her with the requests that came on a near daily basis, she waved them off: always politely, but always firmly.

Once out of the city, they headed east, toward the Wounded Coast. "Are we going to the beach, then?" Merrill asked. The ocean would likely be cooler than the harbor, and there would be a breeze.

"Nope," Hawke replied smugly, turning away from the coast and beginning to climb the rocky slopes toward the trees above. Before long, the roar of the surf faded, and Merrill allowed herself to enjoy the walk as they moved beneath the trees, the leaves overhead turning the intense sunlight a cool green that filtered to the forest floor. Slowly, she became aware of the sound of water splashing, growing steadily louder, until -

"Here we are," Hawke announced with satisfaction, pushing aside a low-hanging branch and stepping into the clearing beyond. Merrill followed, and could not help a gasp of delight.

The little waterfall was perhaps thirty feet high, dropping straight down into a broad, clear pool fifty feet across that was surrounded by overhanging trees: towering pines, sturdy oaks, graceful willows, all of them seeming to crowd close to the precious water, their limbs shading the swirling surface. The rocks near the waterfall gave way to a sandy shoreline.

"Oh, it's lovely!" she breathed. "How did you find this?"

"Chasing down blood mages for Meredith," Hawke replied, propping her massive sword against a tree and leaning back against the trunk to pull her boots off. There was no love lost between she and the Knight-Commander of the templars in Kirkwall, but since the death of her mother at the hands of a renegade blood mage, she had devoted herself to hunting down any others she could. Merrill had feared that she would be included in the vendetta, and Hawke had indeed lashed out at her when she tried to offer comfort at the funeral, but her anger had not lasted.

_"You're not like them, Merrill," she'd murmured, hugging the elf tight after Merrill had readily accepted her tearful apology. "Sometimes I think you're the best of any of us."_

Merrill couldn't see that at all. She was clumsy, absent minded and always blurting out the wrong thing. The only time that she had ever felt confident, in control, was when she was wielding her magic, but in the end, all that had done was cost her Keeper her life, turned her clan irrevocably against her. And still, Hawke believed in her, trusted her; Isabela still told her wonderful stories and kept trying to teach her how to play Wicked Grace, a game at which she remained woefully inept.

They were both so kind to her, thinking of her even in their own happiness. And the water _did_ look refreshing. She slipped out of her own clothes, unable to help contrasting her own skinny body with Isabela's lush curves and Hawke's lithe muscles. Neither of the other two women offered her any pitying or disdainful looks, however.

"Last one in's a bronto's ass!" Hawke raced down the sloped ground, splashing through the shallows and diving in, her body knifing through the water as easily as if she'd been born there. Isabela was right behind...which made Merrill the bronto's ass, she supposed, though she didn't really mind.

"Merrill, come on!" Isabela called out as she surfaced, her hair flowing seal-sleek over her shoulders.

"Coming." She made her way in at a more careful pace; if she tried to match their headlong charge, she'd likely trip and go rolling head over heels. She tested the pool with a toe. "It's cold!" she exclaimed, jerking back in surprise.

"It's spring fed," Hawke replied, disappearing briefly to turn a gleeful flip beneath the surface. "Stays cold, no matter how hot it is outside."

"It's a lot easier to just jump in," Isabela offered as Merrill started to edge forward, gritting her teeth at the icy water lapping at her ankles. "You get used to it faster that way."

The elf looked at her dubiously, but drew a bracing breath and lunged forward gracelessly, hitting the water with an almighty splash. The frigid water closed over her head, and she very nearly gasped at the shock of it, remembering only at the last second that to do so would fill her lungs with the stuff. She flailed briefly before her feet found the sandy bottom and pushed off of it.

She broke the surface, gasping in the warm air as the contrasting sensations began to establish a comfortable balance: the chill below her shoulders no longer so shockingly cold, and the heat above not so stifling.

"Told you," Isabela said, grinning as she floated past, then disappearing as a hand gripped her ankle and yanked her under. There was a flurry of splashes before both Bela and Hawke surfaced, shrieking with laughter and splashing each other. A moment after that, Merrill found herself pulled into the tussle, the three of them ducking from the sun-dappled water into the shadows of the trees and back again, dunking and splashing each other, past failures and future worries set aside in the simple joy of the moment.

The water felt delightful, but the activity was more than Merrill had engaged in for some time, and a sudden cramp lanced through her calf, spreading quickly to her thigh. She tried to kick for the surface, but the cramping leg hampered her, and a sudden burst of panic left her flailing.

Strong hands caught her, drawing her upward. "Easy, Merrill. I've got you." Hawke's reassuring voice in her ear, arms around her waist, holding her safe as she drew in gasp after desperate gasp of sweet air. "Bela, the leg?"

"Got it." The pirate caught the contorted limb, working the knotted muscles with strong, sure fingers, a shade of concern visible beneath the gleam of amusement in her eyes. Slowly, the cramps eased, and Merrill let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank the Creators," she murmured. "And thank you both, as well. Would've been a silly thing to drown in such a shallow pool." She extended her free leg downward, realizing that perhaps it wasn't so shallow, after all, if she couldn't reach the bottom. Hawke and Isabela seemed to be standing, though; Hawke's arms were still around the elf's waist, and Isabela was still rubbing her leg, though her touch was lighter, stroking over the skin, and without the distraction of the cramps, the sensations were...decidedly unsettling.

"Her skin's so soft, Kali," the pirate remarked, honeyed eyes taking on a hungry cat's gleam that made the elf's heart beat a sudden, rapid tattoo against her breastbone. Those eyes rested for a moment on Merrill's face, then shifted to Hawke's, that secret smile back on her lips.

"Aye," the warrior agreed, the circle of her arms loosening to allow her fingers to trace lazy patterns over Merrill's stomach. Muscles in her belly started fluttering, and she gasped at the sudden trace of lips along the edge of her ear, a tongue flicking lightly against the sensitive tip.

"Hawke -"

"It's all right, Merrill." Hawke's hands stilled, but she did not move away. "Do you want us to stop?" Isabela had left off her ministrations, as well. She regarded the elf in silence, waiting for her answer.

"No...I mean, I don't know," Merrill stammered. Their touches felt so good, but...she'd never even let herself consider such a possibility, let alone yearn for something that seemed as unlikely to occur as Fenris and Anders developing a sudden, irresistible passion for each other. Hawke and Isabela had seemed so content with each other, so perfect together. "Why me?"

"Because we want to, Kitten," Isabela assured her with a smile, drawing closer as Hawke's fingers cupped her jaw, turning her head until she was staring into the Champion's green eyes.

"Because we both think that you are utterly exquisite," Hawke murmured, lowering her head to touch her lips to Merrill's.

Exquisite? Her? Utterly ridiculous, maybe...but there was nothing ridiculous about the kiss: so gentle, asking permission and persuading at the same time, and she allowed her lips to part, a soft moan escaping her as Hawke's tongue accepted the invitation, slipping into her mouth and beginning to twine with her own. Her hand came up, fingers tangling in the short, auburn hair to steady herself as Hawke deepened the kiss and Isabela pressed in, her lips trailing over Merrill's neck and shoulder.

Caught between the press of two soft bodies, Merrill could only try to keep pace, feeling clumsy and awkward until the desire that those kisses and caresses kindled in her burned bright enough to overshadow such concerns. Hawke abruptly ended the kiss, only to claim Isabela's mouth hungrily, and a dazed Merrill could only watch in wonder at the fevered play of lips and tongues, and all the while, their hands kept moving, touching her, touching each other, and still she was between them, the slide of their skin against hers creating a maelstrom of sensation that was dizzying.

Then Isabela's lips were on hers, soft and seductive, while Hawke kissed a path from shoulder to neck to ear and her hands cupped the elf's small breasts, deft fingers teasing nipples already hardened and sensitive in the cold water. She gasped, arching into Isabela, and felt the pirate's hands slide down to her backside; her legs kicked in the water, seeking some purchase, and wound up twining about the Rivaini's waist, earning a sultry chuckle from Isabela.

"Perfect," she purred, before drawing Merrill back into another kiss that left the elf's head spinning. One of Hawke's hands continued to tease at her breasts, while the other slipped lower, gliding over her belly and dipping between her legs. She cried out, clinging to Isabela as Hawke began to stroke her, slow and gentle, then pressed two fingers into her, moving in a tender rhythm that Merrill's hips instinctively matched, a delicious heat coiling low in her belly. Isabela ended the kiss, but before there was time for Merrill to be disappointed, the pirate's lips closed around a peaked nipple just as Hawke's thumb found a spot that made her hips jerk wildly, and began to make little circles in time with the motions of her fingers.

It was too much, and the heated coil tightened for a brief instant, then came undone, taking her with it. Her head fell back against Hawke's shoulder, desperate cries in elvish falling from her lips as wave after wave of a pleasure as intense as pain claimed her, and her lovers continued their expertly matched attentions until her body gave a final shudder and went limp, utterly spent.

"That's my girl," Isabela murmured, kissing her way down Merrill's body as she drew back, her hands on the elf's hips stretching her between the two humans, floating on the water's surface, her body still tingling with a delightful frisson.

"What..." Merrill lifted her head, watching in confusion as Isabela sunk lower in the water, feeling Hawke do the same behind her, letting the elf's head rest on her shoulder while the pirate lifted her slim legs to her own shoulders.

"Relax, Kitten," she whispered with a smile. "Trust us?"

Merrill could only nod. The idea of not trusting either of them was absurd. "Always."

"Good." The hungry gleam was back in the amber eyes as the pirate moved forward and Merrill sank back into Hawke's embrace. The first touch of Isabela's tongue was sheer bliss, as gentle and skilled as the warrior's attentions had been, easily drawing her back up the heights that she had only just slipped down from, and all the time, Hawke caressed her, her touch heating the skin where it passed, only to have the gently lapping water cool the fire and another pass of the warrior's fingers reignite it.

"So beautiful," Hawke whispered in her ear in between kisses. "So sweet." That anyone could think thusly of her, touch her as though she were something precious: blood mage, Dalish pariah, abject failure, was incredible enough, but such tender words from Kali Hawke, the sweet caresses, and Isabela's fervent attentions combined to push her over the edge a second time, and she was floating, flying, falling all at once while Hawke and Isabela held her safe between them.

When she returned to herself, the pirate had drawn close once again, her arms and Hawke's around Merrill and each other, the three of them entwined in the water.

"Ah, that marvelous, just-laid glow," Isabela teased her gently, tipping her chin upward and peering into her face. "Did you enjoy yourself, Kitten?"

"I did," she admitted shyly, then blurted, "I love you both so much!" She knew it was true in the moment the words were spoken, but she still felt her stomach double on itself with embarrassment at the brashness of her declaration. "I shouldn't have said that, should I?" She dropped her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush. "Stupid of me, I'm sorry."

"Hush," Hawke soothed her, nuzzling at her neck in a way that was delightfully distracting. "We love you, too." She paused, then chuckled, "And that includes Miss I-Don't-Do-Love, here."

"I can speak for myself, Hawke," the pirate grumbled. "She was right, you know, Kitten. You're the best of all of us: too good for those prigs in your clan, and much too good to spend your life alone. We – Hawke and I – have talked, and we want you with us."

"Always," Hawke clarified, her embrace tightening and her eyes taking on that possessive gleam that Merrill had only seen in association with Isabela until now.

"Down, girl," Isabela murmured in amusement. "No need to start marking your territory."

"I don't mind," Merrill said, leaning her head contentedly against Hawke's shoulder and reaching out to touch the pirate's cheek, wondering how it was possible to go from despair to joy in so short a time. "Well, I might if she really did it...does she do that with you?" She'd never seen it herself, and if humans did it in the same way wolves did, it would look odd, indeed.

Hawke laughed, that warm laugh that never made Merrill feel laughed at. "Only on the bodies of those who would offer her – or you – insult, love."

"Black eyes, broken noses...that sort of thing," Isabela put in helpfully, stretching languidly in the water.

Merrill giggled. "I don't suppose I'd mind that at all."

"Does that mean yes, then?" Hawke asked her. "I know it's not a customary arrangement, but -"

The elf had to laugh. "Blood magic, Hawke, remember?" she asked, wiggling her fingers in the air with a wry smile. "I'm used to doing things in a non-customary way."

"Good," Isabela said with obvious satisfaction. "Then you can start by moving out of that hovel and onto the Siren's Vengeance with me, and then once Hero, here," she punched Hawke's shoulder lightly, "gets over the urge to jump to the rescue every time someone loses a puppy, we can be away from this place."

"To where?" Merrill asked, feeling a thrill of anticipation at the notion of sailing out of the stinking harbor on that magnificent ship with Hawke and Isabela. "Not that it matters," she added hastily. "Anywhere is fine, as long as I'll be with you."

"You will be, Kitten," the pirate promised her, "and anywhere is exactly where we'll go!"


End file.
